There's a great deal of comfort to be had from the things that don't change. Greta hadn't really appreciated that before - before the Curse, or the Giant, or the Rift, or, most recently, the Devil. She appreciates it now, though, which is why she's baking as if she has a shop to run, despite the lack of any such thing.

It doesn't matter. She can keep some of the results for herself, see that her friends get a share, and put the rest in the lobby for anyone who wants or needs it. Things have been weird since the factions fell, and while nobody's starving or getting kicked out onto the street, that doesn't mean a little free food might not make things easier for someone whose life could use a little easing.

If nothing else, it's a nice treat.

At present, she has her sleeves rolled up past her elbows as she kneads a batch of dough, the radio playing quietly in the background. The afternoon sun is slanting into her apartment, emphasizing the puffs of flour she keeps sending into the air. The downside to such an unusual lot of baking is that it's making an unusual lot of mess, but the prospect of an unusual lot of cleaning doesn't bother her. She'll get to it.

For now, there's kneading.